


the hardest choices (require the strongest wills)

by LittleMissStark



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Emotional Baggage, Emotional Constipation, Emotional Manipulation, Heavy Angst, Hurt Tony Stark, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, No Rape/Non-con, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Some suicidal thoughts, Thanos centric (in the beginning), Thanos is lonely, Thanos kidnaps Tony, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, some physical violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-19
Updated: 2018-11-08
Packaged: 2019-06-29 17:13:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15733860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleMissStark/pseuds/LittleMissStark
Summary: Stark -- the mortal man who was ostracized and left behind, the man who foresaw Thanos, the man who destroyed the Chitauri -- he was much more than simply an obstacle or a curse.No. Stark was… he was an opportunity. A possible companion.Thanos knew that this mortal man who hid behind a mask of red and gold, the same one who survived being pelted by a moon, has suffered. The one made of quips, sharp wit, and intelligence was also made of flesh and bone. He was vulnerable. He was alone.Another Gamora, but not quite. Stark wasn’t his son. He was his equal.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The tags will change as the story progresses. Please pay heed for any trigger warnings. Thank you :)

 

He was expecting contentment, a sense of peace, or even happiness. The job was done. Years and years of waiting, calculating, and watching all led up to the final  _ snap  _ of his fingers. Half of the universe no longer exists. His legacy consists of the ashes of the ones unfortunate enough to be lost floating in the wind. Faded ashes, faded lives, a stable universe. Pure, raw power could be wielded by a non committal movement of his hand. He was a savior. He was… a God. This was the end of the path he was destined to travel. 

Yet, even while watching the sun rise over the horizon of his paradise, bringing dawn to a new beginning, a new age, Thanos could feel nothing but empty. Here he was, the most powerful being in the universe, the heart of a better world, and he had no one beside him. 

Thanos closed his eyes only to see the face of the little girl he had come to call daughter behind his eyelids, the little girl who grew into the fiercest woman in the galaxy, the little girl he had come to love. 

Perhaps in other circumstances, he could have allowed himself a chance to mourn. But whenever the tendrils of guilt came sneaking up behind him demanding remorse, demanding repentance -- Thanos reminded himself of his duty, the job no one but he had the ability to accomplish. 

The soul stone sitting upon the gauntlet shone apparently and visibly in his face. With his other hand, Thanos gently touched the yellow stone. Maybe one day, she would forgive him. Maybe one day, she will see how the universe has thrived because of her sacrifice. 

Surely she won’t retain such… hostilities toward him then, would she? He sighed, looking back into the beyond of his paradise. His warrior, his Gamora. She was his child, his favorite, his everything. He has given the universe everything. Now, he only wished…  _ God,  _ how he wished the universe would return to him his sweet, little Gamora. 

Anything, he would do anything to eradicate the growing chasm within him. 

How could paradise be beautiful when all there was to it was loneliness?

 

❖❖❖

 

In retrospect, Stark only threatened him because Stark reminded him of himself. 

This was the thought that ran through Thanos’ head as he arrived on Titan, the ruined planet he once called home. Now there was only a ghost of a past where beings like him were once happy… until their own stupidity caused them to perish. There was a ghost of a past, yes, but there was also a ghost of a war. 

Stark -- the mortal man who was ostracized and left behind, the man who foresaw Thanos, the man who destroyed the Chitauri -- he was much more than simply an obstacle or a curse. 

No. Stark was… he was an opportunity. A possible companion. 

Thanos knew that this mortal man who hid behind a mask of red and gold, the same one who survived being pelted by a moon, has suffered. The one made of quips, sharp wit, and intelligence was also made of flesh and bone. He was vulnerable. He was alone. 

Another Gamora, but not quite. Stark wasn’t his son. He was his equal.  

If the Mad Titan didn’t know any better, the sight of the Man of Iron bloodied, mourning, and crying almost made him feel the same twitch of -- of  _ despair  _ he had once felt when he led an innocent Gamora away from the destruction of her planet and people. The situation was equally pathetic, yet beautiful all at once. 

Stark didn’t look up at the source of the shuddering footfalls nor at the large shadow that blocked the bleak sunlight. The small man was hunched over and rocking back and forth with his elbows on his knees, his eyes closed and streaming, and his hands coated with the remains of the young boy who fought at his side. 

In the background, Thanos found the dark, dark pits which made up Nebula’s angry gaze. He observed her, specifically her stance -- a fierce offensive posture that he had taught her. After all, she too was once someone he called ‘daughter.’ 

“You know, if you had learned to be a little grateful instead of trying to stick a knife through my neck every chance you got, maybe your life could have been a lot easier, Nebula.” His deep drawl wasn’t enough to make Stark raise his head or make Nebula falter. 

“Maybe if you thought about a single person other than yourself, Gamora would have still been alive today,  _ Father,”  _ Nebula growled back, unsheathing her dagger. 

The words… surprisingly cut deeper than Thanos expected. For a split moment, all he heard was his daughter -- his Gamora -- begging, screaming, and then silence. 

Thanos curled his metal fist, the stones glowing dimly atop the gauntlet. “I am the only one to ever put the fate of the universe above myself. Gamora made a sacrifice so that the rest of us could thrive.” 

“She didn’t make a sacrifice. You _murdered her._ _You killed her!”_ Nebula’s roaring screams were cut off abruptly when Thanos’ hand wrapped itself around her neck, lifting her body off the ground. The dagger clattered to the ground as Nebula gasped for air in vain, her black eyes bulging. It reminded him of Loki, the smooth talking failure. The comparison was enough to put a smirk on his face. 

“You always were a disappointment,” he said, bored. “You could never be who Gamora was. You will never understand--” 

“Let her go.” 

Thanos turned his head toward the voice, an amused expression plastered on his face. He was met with a mask and threatened with illuminations from the palms of red hands. 

“It's funny, Stark, how you keep fighting until the last breath for a world that never loved you.” 

The man didn’t once stumble or pause. But Thanos knew better. He knew that underneath that mask, Stark was exhausted and weary and oh, so lonely. Still, he never gave up the fight. He would  _ never _ give up the fight for his home, for the people that had long ago rejected him. 

Thanos admired that. 

“Yes it’s hilarious, now let the robot lady go before this situation gets uglier than it needs to be.” Stark took a step forward, launching new gadgets from his back which formed around him, all of them pointing towards the Mad Titan’s body with an ominous glow. 

There was a pregnant pause before Thanos grunted, throwing Nebula off into the distance. He didn’t spare a second glance as to where she landed. He could care less what happened to her. She wasn’t important. 

“Take off your mask.” The request was simple enough, but Stark remained stagnant. 

“Take off the gauntlet,” the man fired back.

Thanos chuckled, impressed and intrigued. It was hard to imagine that this man, who refused to back down, refused to even stumble despite having been impaled upon his own sword just hours before, was so hated. But Thanos knew how it felt to have to go it alone. People like him and Stark were always too far ahead for their own good. 

_ The hardest choices require the strongest wills.  _

Indeed, they did. 

“Show me your face. I think it’s time you stop being a coward, Stark. You know who you are.” A pause. “ _ I  _ know who you are.” 

“Yeah?” The snark never ceased to permeate from him, no matter how puny the man was. It was endearing, at the very least. “Please, deign to enlighten me, oh mighty Thanos.” Of course, he couldn’t help the tiny smirk that cracked on his purple face. Humans were so…  _ entertaining.  _

With a large stride forward, faster than Stark had time to react, Thanos ripped the tacky mask from the man’s face, revealing large, brown eyes and a pale visage adorned with dirt, ash, and dried blood. It was interesting how those eyes -- so prominent, so demanding -- could seem so much like the innocent eyes of a lamb being led to slaughter, or maybe even a doe caught in headlights. Those are the eyes of a creature that has accepted its end. 

The mask began reforming, but Thanos ripped it away once more, tsking. “Stop hiding yourself.” With a gentle hand, the same one that was covered by the gauntlet, the Mad Titan cupped the side of Stark’s face. He did all of this while ignoring the way the small man’s pupils blew up and his pallor grew more distinct. 

“Take your hand off me. Now.” Even at the cusp of being obliterated, of being so close to  _ so much power,  _ the Man of Iron commanded Thanos like he was nothing. Well, that wouldn’t do at all, would it? No. Stark was his equal. 

It was only fair that Thanos was treated as such in return. 

“I respect you. You should consider yourself lucky,” Thanos drawled, moving his hand up to Stark’s hair. 

“The only thing I consider myself is cursed,” the man said with gritted teeth. 

“Ah yes, I recall. Your only curse is me.”

“You hit it right on the dot there, bud. Now do me a favor and take your ugly paws off of me, why don’t you?” 

Thanos resisted the urge to snort. Instead, he traveled his hand downwards to Stark’s chest, right where the blue plate sat: the source of the nonsense that hid the true colors of the man Thanos already recognized. He ripped that out too. 

He ignored Stark’s hoarse shouting and guttural screams of vulgarity when his gauntleted fist crushed the blue hued technology. 

_ “I hate you!”  _ Thanos heard from behind him. “You took  _ everything  _ from me! You selfish, ugly, purple  _ bastard!”  _

“Why such colorful language, Stark?” The only response he got was ugly sobbing. So unbecoming, so pathetic. But this type of vulnerability, this raw, open emotion… it was  _ beautiful.  _

And in the deepest part of him, the part so layered with years of planning, of building, of waiting, of killing -- that part of him thrummed to life just for a second if only to feel the slightest sense of pity for the small, crumpled frame that cried before him. Because like Thanos, Stark had also lost his child for a cause greater than anyone but the two of them had the will to comprehend. 

“Shh,” Thanos soothed, settling down beside the distraught man. “You never needed that suit. You were always so much more than it. I never understood why you caged yourself within it, trying so hard to prove your worth, when you could have all the power in the world without all of that extra effort.” He sighed, and Stark continued sobbing. “I can see who you are even more than you yourself can see it.” 

“ _ Shut up! Just shut up!”  _ And then Stark was hitting him, but to Thanos, the blows were barely noticeable. Thanos refused to engage, refused to humor him. Instead, he observed. The fight, while so much dimmer now, never once showed signs of flickering out of those determined eyes. The man’s face was tired, worn, and dirty, yet still held the quality of power, of endurance. And the wound in his side continued to flow with blood, enough to impede upon Stark’s sheer stubbornness of staying conscious, of battling it out one last time.

To let this man’s life fade was a waste, and Thanos would rather… would rather have a friend. 

“Can’t you see that you and I, we are one and the same?” 

With a hovering of his hand, Thanos harnessed the smallest amount of power from the mind stone, not so much as to control Stark. That would be a waste of a brilliant mind. The power was enough, however, to blanket the dying man’s head in a light shade of yellow so that he may sleep.

In a swift motion, Stark’s light body was cradled in Thanos’ arms. The Mad Titan opened a portal, not bothering to look back, and stepped into his paradise just as the sun set over the horizon of a desolate planet.    

 

❖❖❖

 

Nebula watched from the distance as Thanos took the man away. Internally, she mourned him because she  _ knew,  _ she knew that there was never a home when it came to the Mad Titan. She knew that whoever he was, he would become Thanos’ next victim. Not his friend, not his child, but a victim. 

After this, if Thanos chose to keep the man alive, Nebula knew that he wouldn’t return the same. Thanos will use him, pick him apart piece by piece, feed him poison while telling him that it was food. There will be nothing left in the end. 

She supposed there was nothing left anyway. Gamora was gone. Even the idiot Guardians. She had no one.  

A few more seconds passed where she stood, lost in thought. Then, reality made itself known and she turned, limping in the direction of Quill’s ship. 

In her heart, she knew the man couldn’t be saved, not from the grasp of Thanos. He was gone, likely never to return. But she needed help. The fight wasn’t over, and Nebula knew her father. He took the man because he was vulnerable, because he was alone. 

Whoever this man was, he would soon become Thanos’ weakness. The same way Gamora once used to be. And that was the thing about Thanos, if he ever had a weakness, he wouldn’t hesitate to remove it from his life if it risked his mission. 

Then again, Thanos had completed his mission. 

So what now? 

Nebula only limped faster, clutching at her sore side. She would find help; she would continue the war… because she knew that if Gamora was alive, she would do anything in her power to try and save that man from Thanos’ iron grip. 

Because Gamora did make a sacrifice, and it wasn’t for the sake of the universe. It was for the sake of Nebula. 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Tony woke up amongst soft sheets and sweet smelling air, the kind of fragrance that only occurs after rainfall. He didn’t bother opening his eyes; instead, he let his mind drift to much simpler times, back when every morning he would be greeted by the ebbing and flowing of the sea, warm sunshine, and a stranger in his bed. It was fruitless to believe that he had been happier in those times, but he was certainly less… unguarded, emotional, or stressed _.  _ Or  _ scared.  _

Life had never, ever been so terrifying. 

Often times, he wondered if everything life had dealt him so far was just karma biting him in the ass. Other times, he managed to convince himself -- with the help of his therapist -- that he was just one man trying his best who deserved a goddamn break. Most times, he decided he deserved every bit of pain, anxiety, and self-loathing that came his way. 

He thought all of this, yet he couldn’t recall a time where he imagined that he was such a terrible person that he deserved  _ this.  _ Bits and pieces floated back to him, and he almost felt hungover due to the slow grogginess of his mind, but at the end, he remembered it  _ all:  _ Thanos throwing the robot lady across the planet, Thanos talking to him about… about  _ knowing  _ him, Thanos ripping his… the plate in his chest… and then sobbing… and then… nothing. 

Keeping his breath held and his eyes closed, he reached up with a hesitant hand to the middle of his chest trying to feel for the hard surface of his arc reactor. Nothing. Reaching down, he realized that he wasn’t even wearing the shirt that was supposed to be attached to the reactor. And his side -- why didn’t his side hurt anymore? He was -- he was  _ stabbed.  _ What -- ?

Tony shot straight upwards, his chest heaving. The silk-like blanket that was covering him fell into his lap. The anxiety clouded his vision, abused his heart and his blood flow. He found himself clenching his fingers into the sheets, which were so satiny, they felt like water. The texture comforted him somewhat, and his air channels cleared. 

_ “Fuck,”  _ he wheezed, lifting up the foreign shirt he had on, which was made of some type of material that he had never felt before, and traced the rugged scar that had taken the place of the bleeding impaled area. Tony breathed in slowly, closing his eyes and counting to ten, and then breathed out. He wasn’t going to freak out, he wasn’t going to freak out. 

On an even stranger note, he was clean. His hair was soft, his face didn’t feel grimy, and he sure as hell didn’t smell. His hands -- they weren’t coated with Peter’s remains anymore. 

Oh God,  _ Peter.  _

Tony bunched his hands into the ankles of his pants, a flowy type of design that left much breathing room for the legs (something Tony definitely wasn’t used to) and was made of the same foreign material as his shirt. He bent his knees and sat up on the bed, not bothering to look at his surroundings as he wrapped his arms around his legs and began to rock back and forth. 

This time, he blinked tears back that caused his vision to go blurry as he breathed in, counted to ten, and breathed out. His breathing ended up a shuddering mess anyway.

Peter…  _ oh God, Peter.  _ This was all his fault. He didn’t do enough, and he failed. Again. Time and time again, the same thing always happens, and  _ shouldn’t he have learned his lesson by now?  _

_ Fuck,  _ he was the Devil. Everyone’s lives were tarnished because of him. Everyone died because of him. His fault, it was always his fucking fault--

“Ah, you’re awake.” Tony went stiff at the deep, resonant voice. He pinched his eyes shut, muttered a half-forgotten prayer under his breath, and rocked a little faster. This wasn’t real, it wasn’t real. “Did you sleep well?” 

Tony kept his head hung between his knees, keeping his focus on the mattress. “What?” he mumbled. 

“I know you’re not deaf, Stark.”

“I HEARD WHAT YOU SAID!” His own bellows rang in his ears as he lifted his head, jaw clenched and eyes dark and ominous. For the first time since waking up, Tony took a second to look around. There was Thanos, still in his armor, standing in front of him by a large pair of regal, arching doors. The purple maniac wore an unimpressed look on his face, and his meaty arms were crossed against his chest. Tony tried his hardest to stop shaking, but the efforts to make himself seem fearless and strong only contrasted with his pajama laden state, and he ended up shriveling into a smaller size. 

“No need for raising voices,” Thanos drawled on as Tony’s eyes flicked left and right. “You are more graceful than that, certainly.”

The room was spacious and round. On both sides, there were long, wide windows that didn’t have glass separating the inside from the outside, but billowy, thin curtains that hung bunched up on the sides. From where Tony was sitting, which was a huge, soft mattress that sank wherever he put pressure on it, he could see a beautiful, crystal clear lake and rolling hills in the background and green, green grass. Paradise. 

The bed frame was carved meticulously out of what Tony thought was gold. It’s head was an intricate design of swirling patterns that was bejeweled with stones of different colors, all of which glistened at the rays of sunshine streaming through the large windows. The ceiling was high, and balls of light shining dimly floated in the air. And the floor… the floor was a misty enigma. Tony couldn’t tell if there was solid floor beneath the white smoke coating the entire area. He wondered if he’d somehow walked into Hogwarts.

Tony swung his legs around so that they could hang just inches from the floor. He dipped a single toe into the mist. The white where he touched tinged a deep red akin to a drop of blood. Tony immediately drew his foot back. 

“You’re nervous. Frightened.” Thanos’ voice reverberated as he looked pointedly at the fading drop of red on the floor.

This wasn’t a prison cell, not in the literal sense. But in every other sense, Tony figured that it might as well be. 

He tried to keep his chest steady and his head held up when he addressed the Mad Titan. “Why’d you bring me here?” Tony asked in a quiet voice. “Why didn’t you just let me die there?” He kept his eyes focused on the gauntlet resting on Thanos’ hand so that he wouldn’t have to meet the gaze of those beady, despicable eyes. 

Thanos shrugged. “It would have been a waste of an invaluable life.”

Tony flinched, Yinsen’s last words flooding his memory. If Yinsen could only see him now. 

“Where am I?” 

Thanos sighed, his gaze shifting towards out of the window. “Your Asgardian friend, he would have called it Valhalla.” He turned his eyes back toward Tony, whose heart swelled at the mention of Thor. “In a way, he would have been right. This place, it is a final resting spot for those like you and me, who have worked endlessly for the greater good. And now… now that we have achieved universal balance, it is time for us to be among an eternal peace.” 

“Mass genocide. That’s what you’re proud of? That’s your… I don’t know, your fucking  _ legacy?  _ Bullshit. Bull. Shit. I wasn’t a part of that, that was all  _ you _ . You and your stupid maniacal brain, thinking that you’re some…  _ God.”  _ Tony ground his teeth together, breathing in heavily through his nose. _ “ _ No. No, that was… that was all you. I wanted to  _ protect _ the world. All you ever wanted to do was  _ destroy _ it.” 

“You misjudge me, Stark. We both have the same goals, just different approaches to it. You wanted to save the universe by throwing a guard around it. I wanted to save the world by getting straight to the point.” A pause. “We’re more alike than you think.”

“We are  _ not  _ the same!” Tony yelled with tears in his eyes. He wiped at his cheeks furiously, half-flustered with all of these sudden realizations about himself and half-frustrated that he couldn’t keep it together in front of this super-villain who had the power to turn him to dust with a snap of his fingers. And why didn’t Thanos just kill him, why not torture him? Why didn’t he just-- 

“How do you know my name?” Tony whispered, the question hitting him right in the face. 

“One often remembers the names of people whom they respect,” Thanos said, as if the fact alone didn’t make Tony want to fling himself out of the window. “You’ve been inside my head ever since you single handedly obliterated the Chitauri. You have fight within you, Stark.” 

_ Thanos has been in my head for six years.  _

There was a few moments of silence where Tony decided that there has never been a point in his entire life where he has hated himself more than he hated himself now. 

“H-how was I cleaned and ch-changed? And m-my stab wound? How was it h-healed?” Tony stammered. The idea of Thanos touching him or manhandling him was so revolting, Tony had to swallow several times to keep from retching. “Di-did you to-touch me?” 

“You forget how powerful I am and just what I can accomplish with simply one of my hands.” Thanos curled his gauntleted hand up to punctuate. 

“Right,” Tony breathed, a dark and heavy feeling settling deep in his bones. 

“And I would never touch you without your permission, Stark. I do not treat my equals in such a way. Like I said, I--”

“--respect me. Yeah.” Tony felt numb, number than how he’d felt back in Siberia, number than how he’d felt when Peter had disappeared. “What’s this?” he asked, gesturing lazily at the smoke on the ground. 

“It lets me know how you are feeling when you touch it.” 

Tony barked a laugh, not bothering to wipe the tears that fell this time. “Like a mood ring.” He sniffed. “I don’t want it.” Right at the end of that sentence, the mist faded into the air, revealing a maroon colored carpet. He laughed again, quieter this time. “You still didn’t answer my question.” 

Silence. 

“Why’d you bring me here?” Tony said, voice barely a whisper. 

“You’re probably hungry. I should bring you something.”

“Why?” Tony wheezed, bottom lip curling in. “Answer me.” 

Thanos simply looked at him blankly, not giving a single emotion, if he even had any of those, away. “Rest, Stark,” he said before walking out the doors. “I’ll get you something to eat.” 

Tony didn’t know if it was the unexpected kindness that he was receiving from Thanos or the fact that the two of them shared so much, but the second the door closed behind the villain, Tony lied back down and buried his face in his pillow so that he could finally let the self loathing consume him.     

❖❖❖

 

Stark was, in every sense, a flame that continued to burn despite the numerous times others have tried to snuff him out. He has long since dimmed, but the life in him has refused to stutter or flicker. 

Thanos saw in him what so many have failed to see: hurt. Beyond the cheap, cold shell he wore, there was a soft, beating heart made of flesh. It was an utterly human heart that had the ability to delve out compassion completely as well as throw up walls so indestructible that the only trait those on the outside saw was  _ ego.  _ But Thanos knew better. Hurt prevails over ego. 

Self hatred prevails over ego. 

Stark believed that hiding himself protected others. He was wrong. He was weak. Compassion made people its bitch so easily, didn’t it? 

For a fleeting second, a woman with green skin flashed behind his eyelids, then disappeared. 

Thanos looked out towards his paradise instead. 


	3. Chapter 3

Quill’s ship wasn’t completely obliterated, which was a miracle in and of itself considering the chaos of the lost battle. Nebula had to admit that despite the man’s infuriating douchebag complex, Quill still had a minimum level of intelligence. Maybe it was something he got from Gamora. Although Nebula could never understand how her sister ever fell for that bumbling idiot, the thought of what they shared together managed to form a broken grin on her face. 

Gamora and Quill -- they were supposed to have so much more. Now, the both of them were gone. And even though Nebula knew just who was responsible for their deaths, she still wondered at how differently things would have been if she hadn’t failed on killing Thanos in the first place. 

Thanos replaced almost all of her with metal and machinery. He took everything from her. Yet, even in the end, her life remained. Her heart was still flesh. In that moment, it beat for the man Thanos stole. It beat for another soul lost, another conscious murdered. 

Nebula hissed, clutching her aching side as she gingerly lowered her body into the pilot’s seat. She checked the vitals of the ship through the screens that lit up dimly all around her. Everything seemed fine except for one of the engines on the left side of the plane. She had to get out and fix that manually if she ever wanted to get the hell out of Titan. 

Through the windshield, there was only desolation and an ominous, lonely stillness. The landscape stared through the glass. Nebula stared back. Thanos lost everything once, and it was on this planet. 

Titan was the birthplace of loss. With loss, the planet wrought an enemy of the universe. It was only he who got the gift of survival. Why was it only him who got to live when there were so many just like him once who were  _ good?  _

Secretly, Nebula believed that the universe desired to be destroyed. Thanos was only the messenger. And she? And all the other ‘children’ Thanos adopted? Collateral. 

She limped out of the ship, immediately spotting the problem on the engine. It wasn’t terrible, but there was only one way to fix the thing indefinitely and that was to find new parts. She didn’t know how long the engine would last if she simply tightened the loose parts and patched the thing together as best she could, but she hoped it was enough to reach the man’s home planet, enough to find help. 

It was while she was tinkering with some of the wires that a stray spark ran a shock through her entire body. Her metal parts tingled intensely and painfully, and she fell on the ground with a choked groan. The side she had fallen on when Thanos threw her clamped up once more. The sensation, so extreme and electric, brought Nebula back to the torture chamber, brought her back to a magnetic pulling that ripped her apart as she was suspended helplessly in the air, her body taken out of her control. 

She wished Mantis were still here. Her touch, her entire being radiated of an innocent softness that Nebula envied. And despite Mantis’ naivety, she was powerful. She was beautiful. Nebula wished for the touch of her hand against her head, only so that she could sleep peacefully, just once. Only so that her mind could rest without the torture, without the pain. 

It took several moments for the pain to pass. Nebula laid there, her eyes closed, until finally she breathed in deep and sighed. She got up on wobbly feet, and reached for the wires, carefully this time, and went back to work. 

 ❖❖❖

 

“I thought you might be hungry.” Thanos stood at the foot of the bed as he acknowledged the small lump burrowed under the blankets. He frowned when there was no response. “Stark.” Nothing but silence. Thanos reached out with a hand, and gently nudged the tiny body. “Tony--” 

The lump spasmed, and Thanos stepped backwards as Stark emerged from the blankets, face flushed and red and eyes streaming with tears. “You said you wouldn’t touch me!” 

Thanos huffed impatiently. “I wasn’t going to hurt you.” He offered the small bowl of food to the man once more in a manner as placating as he could manage. “In fact, I would think that offering you sustenance would benefit you more than it would benefit me.”

“Yeah? And what about the whole kidnapping me and bringing me here to live in your accursed castle? Who’s that benefiting? Because from where I’m standing, the whole thing’s pointless.” Thanos narrowed his eyes. Even when he was completely helpless, the man never gave up his quick tongue. “Unless you’re looking for a Beauty and the Beast type of thing. Well, then I gotta tell ya: you’re shit outta luck. I’m engaged pal--”

“Stop fighting me, Stark. I am not your enemy.”

“You took my kid from me. That makes you number one on my hitlist, asshole.” 

“The both of us made sacrifices. One life for the betterment of the rest. Not a bad price considering what was at stake.” 

“You killed your own daughter,” Stark seethed. “That’s not paying a price, that’s called  _ murder.”  _

“ _ You will not fight me!”  _ Without a warning, Stark was lifted off the bed, the gauntleted hand wrapped around the man’s neck. He stared murderously with those large, brown eyes, the flames of anger still licking at his pupils. The life wouldn’t flicker, not even when it was being choked out of him. 

Thanos dropped him back on the bed, causing Stark to hit the mattress ungracefully. The Mad Titan looked away from the harsh black and blue marks blossoming on the skin from where Thanos had held him up. He forgot how fragile the Man of Iron was, how easy to break. He looked back up, regret ravaging through him. 

Stark heaved for breath, his tiny chest raising up and down rapidly as he struggled to compose himself. “What do you want from me?” he wheezed, voice constricted and harsh. 

Thanos breathed in and out before offering the food once more. “I told you, Stark. I want you to rest. Contrary to what you may believe, this is not a prison. This is  _ Valhalla _ . Can’t you see? Our work is done. You and I -- we can rest now.” 

“I don’t want this.” Stark rasped. 

“No, Tony.” Thanos softened his voice as he placed the bowl of food in the man’s hands. He didn’t think Stark registered it. “You think you don’t deserve it. You think you’re evil, worthless." A pause. "You’re a savior, Tony.” 

Another stream of tears flowed down the flushed cheeks. Stark looked down at the bowl in his hands before chucking it onto the floor. “I don’t want your fucking food.” He laid back down, covering his head with the blankets once more. “I don’t want any of this.” 

Thanos sighed and swiped his hand to make the mess on the floor disappear. He stared out the window towards paradise. “You’re infuriating.” No response. Thanos cupped his hand, forming another small bowl of food. He placed it on the table beside the bed. Stark didn’t move, didn’t acknowledge Thanos one bit. “I do apologize, Tony, for hurting you.” Silence. 

He began walking away, his resolve breaking at the vexing silent treatment. He paused only for a second when he heard a soft sob, but he didn’t look back. 

❖❖❖

Thanos was wrong. This wasn’t Valhalla, this was hell, and Tony figured he deserved it.  


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the weird posting schedule. I try to write whenever I can, but writer's block is ALWAYS there to fuck things up for me. Anyway, hope you guys enjoy this chapter! I feel proud of it :)

After Siberia, his therapist had diagnosed him with major depressive disorder. In the days leading up to seeing her on a regular basis, Tony remembered how his limbs would feel so heavy that he couldn’t get out of bed. He remembered not eating to the point where his bones would jut out of his hips and his skin would desperately stretch out over his ribs. He remembered not being able to sleep despite how much fatigue seeped into his bloodstream. He remembered how dust had fallen over his workshop, over his tools, over his blueprints. He remembered how he’d snapped at Pepper over the phone one time for no reason, and then never receiving any calls from her for weeks. 

Rhodey called him after he hurt Pepper.  _ “We have always stood beside you, Tony. Mess after mess, we have been by your side. Get help, Stark, or you’ll find no one standing next to you someday. I don’t want that, and I know you don’t either. Make a goddamn effort or we’ll stop making ours.”  _

That had been the wake up call. Tony forced himself up and to a therapist, then he took his prescribed antidepressants. He apologized to Pepper, Happy, and Rhodey, and tried to do right by them. He mentored Peter Parker. He upgraded the Compound. He got engaged. He did everything he could to forget. 

He never told Rhodey about what happened in that abandoned HYDRA base. How could he? This wasn’t about him, not anymore. He’d hurt his friends enough. 

He was happy for once. He wanted  _ a baby.  _

Yet, the stupid flip phone still found its way to stay snug by his side, stored in his pocket, heavy against his skin. 

And then Thanos came knocking at the door, ruining  _ everything.  _

Tony was stuck in this beautiful hell, but somewhere deep in his heart he knew that this was the price he had to pay. This was all of the time he spent as the Merchant of Death, all of the innocent people who died because of his weapons, all of the people in Sokovia who lost homes, families, and their lives, all of the people he could have saved -- they were all throwing one massive karma sized boomerang at him, and this was what the outcome was. This was the final punishment. 

He reached up with his fingers to feel the still tender bruises tainting his neck. It was funny, wasn’t it, how Thanos promised to not touch him or hurt him one second, then proceeded to choke him in the next? Tony wondered just how much blood covered those purple hands. It was almost poetic that those hands would wrap around the throat of another murderer. 

His feet sunk into the carpet when he stepped on it, it was that soft. The maroon was dark and vibrant enough to avoid looking like blood, but that was the only comparison Tony thought was appropriate given the circumstances. He walked towards the gaping window. There was no glass, so the soft breeze floating in from the outside was heavy with the fragrant of grass and nature. From where he stood, there was no barrier between the room and the rest of the outside. He could jump and there would be no one to stop him. 

Thanos called this place a paradise. Tony thought of it as just a luxurious penitentiary with no bars on the windows.

There was a lake nearby. If Tony simply walked out of the palace -- prison -- whatever, he could sit by it and watch the sunset. Despite everything, the sunsets on this planet were beautiful and vibrant, an explosion of color and silent spectacle that Earth’s sunsets could never compare to. For those few moments, the small spark of hope that sat in the way back of Tony’s mind flourished -- the hope that he would get to go home one day, that someone back on Earth still missed him, still thought of him and loved him. 

Maybe, maybe not. What else was left to his life besides hope? 

Tony padded his way to the door of the bedroom, wrapped his hand around the ornate door handle, and twisted it. It gave way easily.  _ Huh,  _ he thought. Thanos couldn’t even bother to lock him in. What type of villain was he? 

The mass-murdering one, apparently. As for keeping prisoners, not so great. 

There was nothing but an ominous quiet waiting for Tony on the other side of the door. The silence was so deafening, that Tony felt compelled to tiptoe his way out into the corridor. 

Soundlessly, the door swung shut behind him, the click echoing and permeating amongst the endless, high ceilings made of pristine marble. In fact, the entire hallway, humongous in height and width, was made from intrinsically chiseled marble. On the ceilings, there seemed to be a story of some sort being depicted through stained glass. From what Tony could decipher, it was Thanos’ story. 

He stood in the middle of the corridor, thus, in the middle of the story. With his neck craned all the way up, he gazed in awe and confusion at the depiction of a stained glass Thanos with a small green skinned girl on his right and another blue skinned little girl to his left. Tony recognized her from Titan: the woman with the robotic parts, dark eyed and solemn, but not afraid to kill. 

Tony returned his gaze to before him. There was a shiny, tacky display of wealth all along the walls. On his left, the corridor stretched out further and then made a right turn. On his right, the corridor ended at two large doors, which Tony assumed was the exit. One of the doors was wide open to the world. The rippling grass was visible from where Tony was standing, as well as the canvas of the sky. 

He looked behind him. Nothing. He looked back in front of him. There wasn’t anything stopping him, so why the hell not? Tony had nowhere to go, no one to talk to, nothing to do. His stomach rumbled uncomfortably, and the thought of the ignored plate of food sitting on the table beside his bed taunted him. He stared at the door to his bedroom for a few more seconds, wondering if he should go back in or not. He ended up walking towards the exit instead. 

The air was pleasantly warm, sweet even, in a strange, ironic way. Even the grass was as soft and comfortable under his feet as the carpet in his bedroom. Everything about this planet -- this apparent paradise -- was so similar to Earth: the way the hills in the distance rolled, the way the sky was painted a light blue while melting into deeper, bolder colors as the sun set, even the way the water of the lake rippled at the mercy of the gentle wind. It was all the same. All except one thing. 

It was so quiet here. 

Back home, he would be able to hear the chirping of birds, the passing and going of cars, machines creaking, rain falling, babies crying. Here, there were no animals. Here, there was no one else. Here, everything was silent. 

Tony kept walking towards the lake, taking in the beautiful emptiness of it all. 

He thought of Pepper. No matter how much he tried to do right by her, the universe always found a way to make him have to say goodbye, to make him hurt her in the worst possible way. Now, he would most likely never see her again. He had no idea if she was even still alive, if she had turned to ash or if she was mourning half of the universe. He had no way of contacting her, no way of seeing her. 

Then, he thought of May. If she hadn’t been taken by the snap, then she would be frantically searching for Peter. Peter, who never came home from his field trip. Peter, who was failed by the one person he trusted would always, always protect him. 

And Rhodey? They had gotten into a fight about the Accords just a few days before the attack happened. Rhodey was already irritated that day from having dealt with Ross. Having to deal with Tony cracking annoying jokes at inappropriate times only put the icing on the cake. By the end of that debacle, Rhodey made it very clear to him that he regretted signing the Accords, that Steve was right, that it was wrong of him to think that Tony could ever be responsible enough, could ever  _grow up_ enough, to handle The Avengers, and Tony _fucked_ _up_. Royally. As per usual. Tony had ran away, wiping tears from his cheeks rapidly and feeling so terribly alone. Deep inside, he knew that his Honey Bear didn't mean it. If Rhodey really hated him or didn't trust him, he would have left a long time ago. Never in a million years would he have dealt with Tony's shit. How could Tony blame him? After all, there was such a thing called a limit. _And he finally reached it,_ thought Tony forlornly.  _That's how badly I fucked up. That's how badly I hurt him._ He never got the chance to apologize to his best friend. Now, he may never see him again. 

Tony didn’t even want to think about Steve. He hasn’t seen him in two years. Every time he thought about  _ that  _ day, he remembered a furious red tinting his vision, aching muscles and blood down the side of his face, and the image of his friend walking away from him, not bothering to look back… not bothering to care. He thought about the phone: the stupid and frankly insulting -- considering he was a  _ genius  _ and a  _ futurist _ \-- flip phone. Seriously, did Steve learn  _ nothing  _ from the 21st century _? _ He thought about the unread messages, the muted and ignored phone calls. Steve tried so hard. For two years, day after day. And Tony never once responded. Never once gave him a chance. 

Now… now there was  _ no  _ chance. 

It was only when he was waist deep in the lake did he realize that he didn’t stop walking at the edge of the water. Tony chuckled brokenly among tears brimming at his eyes -- tears he hadn’t even noticed. Even nostalgia was a better captor than Thanos was. 

“Usually, when I come down here to watch the sunset, I tend to not walk half way into the water.” Tony wiped his cheeks and rolled his eyes at the voice of the purple bastard. “How’s the view from down there? Better?” Huh. The villain was sassy. Go figure. 

Without turning around, Tony called back just as asshole-ish, “Oh the view? It’s perfect from over here. You know, I bet it’d be even better if I just kept walking in until I’m completely submerged, what say?” Surprisingly, the water was pleasant. Now that he thought of it, maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea. He’s never going to be able to leave. He’ll never see anyone ever again. Half the universe is gone, and it was his fault. 

So what if he disappeared here? It’s not like anyone was going to mourn him. 

“Don’t be so morbid, Stark.” Tony sighed a shuddering sigh as he looked up towards the waning sun. “This is too beautiful a place to die.” 

And despite everything, Tony found himself agreeing. 

So he turned around. The sight of Thanos sitting by the edge of the lake, a solemn expression on his face, should have shocked him. Tony only lowered his gaze, focusing on the water and not the Titan, as he waded his way back to shore. 

And because he could think of nowhere else to go, he sat down beside the huge, purple maniac in his soaking pajamas, brought his knees to his chest, and wrapped his arms around them. The canvas of the sky darkened slowly, and the two -- hero and villain, kidnapped and kidnapper -- sat side by side in silence. 

Until the dreadful darkness roiling in Tony’s belly surged, a result of both hunger and a terrible, intangible emptiness inside of him, and he opened his big mouth. “You ever feel like that?”

And because Thanos was the type of creature who was equal parts intelligent and diabolical, he knew exactly what Tony was talking about. “There was a time when that was all I felt. When Titan fell, I was alone.” Silence. “But I found a greater purpose. I realized that everything was orchestrated the way that it was for a reason. I was meant to be the only one. I was meant to survive, so that the universe could be saved.” A shiver ran down Tony’s spine, and a dark thought possessed him. He couldn’t help thinking how different the universe would be if Thanos had never found that ‘greater purpose.’ The thought scared him, and with a skip of his heart, Tony shook it away.  

“You sure did save it, alright,” Tony said softly, focusing his gaze on the blades of grass before him. 

“I did,” Thanos said just as softly, but with a stone cold certainty. A few moments went by where Tony let himself cry silently, the tears falling on his arms as the sun dipped down and everything went dark. “People like us, Tony -- we’re left behind. We’re sacrificed so that the world could be something better, something greater. But in that process, we’re spat on, ridiculed, fought, and undermined by  _ everyone _ . So much so that even when we try to make our own families, to make our own friends … their fidelity is short lived to the point where they draw the weapons you gifted them to your neck. Then, in the path to salvation, we’re not even allowed to keep the ones we love the most.” Behind his lids, Tony saw a young boy pleading for his help as he faded to nothing. “The universe…  _ uses  _ us while  _ hating  _ us, and then damns us to a life of constant solitude. We fight at the cost of everything. And when we win… when we win, we get nothing.” 

Tony’s heart ached. Not for Thanos, but simply for the fact that he saw himself in Thanos’ words. And that terrified him. He chanced a glance at the Titan and was met with the sight of a single tear rolling down that creviced, purple cheek. If the monster shed tears for the same reasons Tony did, _ then maybe _ \-- Tony thought --  _ maybe Thanos is not the only monster here.  _

Unconsciously, Tony brought his hand up to the bruises mottling his neck, and pressed down gently. The dull pain made him inhale sharply. 

“I truly am sorry for putting my hands on you, Stark.” 

Tony refused to meet Thanos’ eyes. “Yeah,” was all he said back. 

And just as suddenly as his tender bruises had hurt when he had touched them, nothing hurt the next time Tony pressed his finger down. If Tony had to guess, the bruises were no longer on his neck. 

“Tony,” he heard Thanos say. He tilted his head in the direction of the voice without raising his gaze to meet the Titan’s. Instead, he saw a large, purple palm of a hand placed between them. The hand that took the lives of so many now asked for appeasement from a measly, irrelevant human. That hand spilled so much blood. So much. That hand took the life of Thanos’ own daughter. And now Thanos was asking for Tony to take it. 

At first, Tony didn’t move. He was repulsed even by the mere thought of it. He couldn’t, he could  _ never--  _ But. 

Thanos was vulnerable. Thanos was trusting him. And maybe… maybe Tony could play along. Just until he could do what he always did. Just until he could win. 

So, in the dark of a foreign planet, on a place far from home, Tony Stark placed his tiny palm in Thanos’ large, purple one, transferring to him control over the most powerful being in the universe. 

 

 ❖❖❖

  
  


Quill's ship was on autopilot, so Nebula now focused on polishing up on her own body parts. The electrical shock still left her a bit sensitive, and it stung viciously every time she prodded at her malfunctioning pieces. If she still had flesh, she would have said that her body was sore and tender. But Thanos had taken even her skin from her and replaced it with machines. Thanos always took the parts she needed to feel a semblance of humanity. Thanos stole from her then, and he kept stealing from her even now. 

Once a stray piece of her arm was properly clicked back into place, she grunted in pain, leaning back in her seat. She clenched her jaw and bit back a curse. 

The pain was enough to distract her, just for a few moments. Just so she didn't have to remember. Just so the hole Gamora left within her didn't feel quite as empty. 

Nebula spent years of her life despising her green skinned sister. And once she was able to get her back again, to feel love for her again, she was taken away. Maybe it would have been better if she had kept despising her. It wouldn't have hurt so much then: her death. 

The sharp pain ebbed into a dull ache. She looked out through the windows, out at the stars and the galaxies and the planets she sped by. The entire universe was halved. How many were mourning? How many were gone? How many had nothing left? 

How many suns shone on desolation, on destitution… on death? 

Part of Nebula resented the man Thanos had taken. One life for the cost of half of the universe. One measly life in trade of billions. The stonekeeper, the one with the red cloak, was weak willed, and if there was one thing Nebula knew down to the flesh part of her core, it was that a weak will spelled tragedy, and sacrifice was a double edged sword. 

She remembered seeing that disappointment, that deep, deep well of despair pooling in those abnormally large eyes -- disappointment that he didn’t die and despair because those who did disintegrate to specks of dust did so at the cost of  _ one  _ life: his. But that was the problem with any game Thanos played, wasn’t it? Lives have no worth, and their price tags are flimsy. 

The other part of her pitied the man. See, she knew that Thanos was more than just a diabolical, textbook villain. He used vulnerability to expose vulnerability. He had the power to break someone else by letting himself break just a tiny bit. Thanos never knew love, he never knew affection. He only ever knew manipulation. He only ever knew  _ fear.  _

The man who left with Thanos would never return the same. Either he will be broken, or he will be stronger. Fiercer. 

A weapon. 

Nebula knew. She knew because while Gamora became the fiercest woman in the galaxy, Nebula was the one who broke. 

The stars, planets, and galaxies continued to zoom by, glorious and majestic despite all the life that was stolen from them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even I was shocked by how similar Thanos and Tony are. And I wrote the damn thing.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight trigger warning for a brief scene where Tony punches a mirror.

When the sun finally set, the green of the grass turned a deep navy, and the stars emerged amongst the blackness as dim, twinkling pinpricks that were shadowed by the intensity of the two moons hanging in the sky. 

The ghost of Stark’s tiny palm lingered on Thanos’. He couldn’t quite identify the spiraling, light sensation in his core, but it was enough to weaken him, enough to make him shed tears in front of his equal. But if he could not be open and vulnerable with the one he respects, then was there truly a point in bringing him to his paradise at all?

Despite the night air, there was no chill. The moment he and Stark shared, that one passing moment where they had  _ seen  _ each other, had come and gone. Now, Stark's arms were curled around his knees as the small body was racked with shivers.

“You haven’t eaten,” Thanos said matter-of-factly, glancing once at Stark before looking out towards the lake. The water was eerily still, the world ominously silent. “Let's return inside. I'll give you dinner, and then we can part ways as you wish.” Stark stayed stagnant, and Thanos sighed, not in annoyance, but of weariness. He stood up, waited, but Stark only shivered in place. 

“Wait.” Right as Thanos turned to go, a stammering, soft voice halted him midstep. He turned back around and saw the small man standing on shaky legs. “Okay. Let's go,” Stark said in between clattering teeth. 

Thanos didn't think much of it when he extended his hand to Stark. Compared to his thick, large, and purple hand, Stark's was tiny and fragile. Yet those same hands were capable of bringing the universe to its destruction. So much like Gamora's when she was just a little girl. 

Stark stared at the Titan’s offer, then looked back up. In one shaky move, the mortal wrapped his hand around Thanos’ finger.

Side by side they walked back to the palace that was set against a backdrop of the starry night sky. It was a drop of majesty and regality in a sea of plainness and silence. 

Thanos slowed his pace for Stark, who was still struggling to maintain stability with the cold rattling his knees. His gaze remained pointedly downwards, but the grip he had on Thanos’ fingers spoke volumes more. 

_ Maybe,  _ Thanos mused.  _ Maybe one day we will know peace at each other’s side.  _

 

❖❖❖

  
  


Nebula didn’t like to dwell on her past. She never did, really. What has happened has happened, and all that was left was to make sure that no one ever suffered again like she once did. 

At the hands of a monster. 

It was only when she felt truly nothing at all that her childhood crept into her mind like an invasive parasite. Sometimes, when her emotional bank was drained, when she has used up her tears or her happiness or her laughter or her anger, the wall she constructed so carefully around her memories weakened, and one by one, they returned with a vengeance.  _ Don’t lock us out!  _ They’d shriek.  _ Stop denying us our existence! We are real and you are a coward!  _

Sometimes, though… sometimes there would be good memories. Memories that were clouded by the ones Thanos drilled into her metallic head as he took her apart piece by piece and stole everything from her. Memories that were scared away by the manifestation of her spite, of the poison that spread and became too strong to be flushed out. 

On days Nebula was lucky, one of the good ones would bless her, and she would drown in it. 

 

xxx

 

She remembered the day Thanos brought Gamora home. They were both children, barely past the age of six. She remembered the strange little girl’s green skin, the magenta streaking through her thick, black hair. At first glance, Nebula had thought the little girl was beautiful. 

_ “This is Gamora,”  _ Thanos had said as he held the hand of the traumatized, wide eyed, and shaking child.  _ “She is your sister, Nebula. Make sure she feels at home, won’t you?”  _

Back then, they were both children. Back then, when Nebula had first taken Gamora’s hand, shown her around the ship, and told her everything about who she was, who Thanos was -- they had no idea. 

But throughout the blur of that day, Nebula only remembered one conversation as clear as day. And this… this wasn’t a conversation or a memory Thanos could pick apart, press play, and broadcast. This wasn’t a part of her mechanical, artificial mind. This was a part of her that clung to the flesh in her heart, the sweet tenderness that took days of searching in the dark to find. 

_ “Is Thanos a bad man?”  _ A young Gamora asked a young Nebula, still fully flesh and bones. Not a part of her was taken yet. They had sat on the edge of a platform together, their arms embracing the metal barrier as their small legs dangled and swung back and forth. Out in front of them was a large window. They could see the stars, the planets, the galaxies as they passed by. 

_ “No,”  _ young Nebula had answered matter-of-factly, like she had known everything there was to know in the world.  _ “Thanos is our father. He takes care of us.”  _

_ “But what about my planet? How am I going to get home to Mommy?” _

_ “This is our home, Gamora, and you’re my sister now.” _

_ “But I have to save my Mommy. I have to help her, I have to get back.” _

_ “Your Mommy is safe. Father saved her. He saves everyone.”  _ A pause. _ “He saved us.”  _

There was a moment of quiet where the two of them simply looked out into the universe outside. 

_ “I don’t feel very safe,”  _ young Gamora said in a soft voice, sniffling as a few tears spilled down her cheeks.  _ “I want my Mommy back. I want to go home.”  _

Young Nebula reached out and touched her sister’s hand softly.  _ “Don’t worry. We’ll keep each other safe from now on. We’ll be each other’s homes. I promise to be the very best sister, the very best family you’ve ever had. And one day, when we’re grown up, we can look for your Mommy together.”  _

Young Gamora continued to sniffle until she finally nodded, her eyes still wet.  _ “Okay,”  _ she mumbled, taking her sister’s pinky finger and wrapping it around her own.  _ “I promise to be your sister and family, and to keep you safe too.”  _

With that, the two little girls smiled at each other. Their pinkies stayed connected as they watched the celestial bodies fly by.  

 

xxx

 

Nebula silently brushed a tear from her cheek, sitting up in her chair. On the small table before her, there were wrappers and crumbs, small evidence that she was well enough to eat. Her clothes, which were torn and dirt-smeared, were thrown off to the side. Nebula had chosen to wear Mantis’ clothes instead of Gamora’s. After all, her goal for the present moment was to hurt as less as she possibly could given the circumstances. 

Given what she had just remembered. 

According to the ship’s navigation device, she was a few days from the Milky Way Galaxy, which was where Quill’s mother was from if she recalled correctly. A planet called Earth. The man Thanos kidnapped was from there. So was that boy he’d clung to as he’d faded to dust. So was that sorcerer. 

Powerful people came from that planet. There should still be some powerful people left who could help her, who could continue this war. Maybe it was the flesh part of her talking, but at this point in her life, Nebula had nothing left but idealism to lay her head on. 

Regardless of who she found, regardless of whether they would help or not, Nebula knew that at least she could sleep at night knowing that she had tried. 

That Gamora would have been proud of her for trying to save that man. 

_ No more blood,  _ they’d promised each other after Ego’s demise.  _ We’re not letting Thanos spill anymore blood, not if we can stop it.  _ In the end, they still went their separate ways. In the end, well… you know how that story went.

Everything was so quiet, and it only made her pain and anguish louder. 

She put the ship on autopilot with a direct route to Earth. Once she was sure everything was stable, she shot out of her chair, only to regret it when shooting pains reverberated through her body. Her sharp inhale and hiss morphed into a sob. 

She sobbed, loud and ugly as she hit the wall over and over and over again. She hit harder, cursing Thanos for existing, cursing herself for failing, cursing Gamora for leaving her alone again, cursing Mantis for being taken when she was so innocent, so… harmless. She hated the universe, she hated herself, she hated Thanos. She reached for the tenderness again, but only felt metal. She reached for the warmth of that memory, but only felt the chill of a hard surface, of a hollow cocoon. 

She reached for someone, anyone. 

She found no one. 

Because for her, life was always a ball and chain wrapped around her ankle. When she was a child, it was Thanos. When she was an adult, it was her metal parts, it was Gamora, it was her spite and anger. Now… now it was just this complete, endless, destitute silence that never forgot to remind her of how insignificant she was, how powerless, and how Thanos will always take from her, no matter how far away she was and how much time passed. 

 

❖❖❖

 

He’d requested that Thanos leave him alone as he ate his dinner in his room: a simple dish of chicken, mashed potatoes, and green beans. Thanos asked him what he wanted before he left, and Tony could only manage the mental capacity to name the plainest of meals. 

In the hallway, which was now lit with dim torches, giving the palace an even more ominous aura, Tony pointedly refused to look up at the stained glass on the ceiling. At some point, he had even forgotten that he was holding Thanos’ finger, not unlike how a child would hold their parent’s hand. He felt the stickiness of phantom blood on his palm, and eating was only nauseating. 

As he looked out into the night from his window, drinking in the silence and chewing his food slowly, the dirtiness of it all -- of who he was, of who Thanos was, of what the universe had become because of him -- snaked up his limbs and wrapped around his throat. In the end, he left the plate half eaten on the bed. 

There was a bathroom in his room, but he hadn’t been in it yet. He looked once at the closed door off to the side, then looked down at his hand. 

Bright, thick scarlet coated his palm, sinking into his crevices and running down his arms. Tony inhaled sharply, closed his eyes, then opened them again. Nothing. He scrambled up anyways, almost getting tangled in his covers, and ran to the unopened door...

...and stopped in his tracks. 

The bathroom had the same gross, unabashed display of wealth. There was a large, clawfoot tub off to the side -- big enough to support two people -- an ornate sink, a shower, and a toilet.

There was a window next to the tub. Just like the window in his room, there was no glass between the inside and the outside. The breeze wafting in was simultaneously comforting and unsettling. 

The stars in the sky twinkled bright and eager, but Tony couldn’t help but feel as if their joviality was mocking, seeing as how they were free to roam the entire universe, to mingle with the planets and the moons and the galaxies, and he was imprisoned and forever alone, surrounded by a thickening darkness.

He turned away from them. 

There was an assortment of oils, scents, and lotions in an armoire in the corner of the bathroom. Bathrobes and towels of the softest materials sat beside them, all of them folded neatly and tied together with a red sash. The luxury of it all -- a facade of a five-star hotel while rivers of blood flowed from planet to planet, when so much pain and loss and grief were dealt to so many people -- it nurtured the malignant manifestation of deep loathing for himself. He hated what he had been given, he hated that no matter how much he tried to break the cycle, to be someone worthy of breathing the same air Yinsen, his mother, Peter, Pepper, Rhodey, Happy, St… Steve breathed, he always became the villain. 

He didn’t realize when he did it. 

The pain didn’t register until after the buzzing in his ears dissipated, and the silence became apparent once more. He looked down at his fist, at the rosy drops of blood decorating his knuckles, the pink flush around them. A small part of the mirror before him was cracked. Jagged lines replaced the reflection of his face. 

Tony breathed in and out shakily. In and out, in and out. 

But that was the thing about adrenaline: it possesses, makes one think that they are the shit, that their anger makes them powerful, and then… then it punishes. So when the silence returned, and Tony could finally hear his breathing loud and clear in his head, his adrenaline punished him the same way so many others have: by fading away. 

He screamed. So loud that the power in his lungs lost its meaning, and even the stars stopped their belligerent twinkling. His body hunched over involuntarily, and he grabbed onto the sink so that he didn’t crumple to the floor, trying so hard to  _ breathe.  _

“I should be dead,” he whimpered, heart aching and lungs deflate. “It should have been me.” Tony sobbed, allowing the pressure to build up in his temples as the image of Peter turning into nothingness in his arms played over and over in his mind. “ _ It should have been me.”  _

 

Xxx

 

_ There was a piano playing in the background. Soft music. It was a tune he recognized, a tune he knew by heart.  _

_ A woman’s voice followed the notes. A sweet voice. Comforting.  _

_ The words were like honey as they flowed, one after the other, so effortlessly and wondrously. His mother always sang in Italian so beautifully.  _

_ She’d sing whenever Howard wasn’t home.  _

_ Something bloomed in his stomach. A warm, overwhelming sensation of safety and love and everlasting peace.  _

_ He didn’t know where he was, but he could hear her so loud and clear. He didn’t care where he was. His madre came home, she came home to him and she’s singing. Everything was going to be okay, everything was… serene.  _

_ Tony heard her, but he couldn’t tell if he was young or old, alive or dead. There was no substance to his body, no timeline to his memories. He was floating, he was free.  _

_ It was beautiful. _

_ It was beautiful, but it was also so incredibly strange because… because he couldn’t help but wonder why the corners of his vision were so… so yellow.  _

 

xxx

 

The floor beneath him was hard. 

Tony opened his eyes, squinting even at the dim glow of the candles lighting up the bathroom. His hand ached, but when he looked at it, there was no more blood. He was congested, and his nose was stuffy, like he’d been hit with the flu. His head pounded, and there was a peculiar thickness, as if his mind was drowned in honey… 

He sniffed, getting a faint whiff of sweet vanilla. The tub was full where he’d last saw it empty with what he presumed was warm, scented water. There was a bathrobe sitting beside the tub, the godforsaken folded one with the red sash. The mirror, where he’d smashed it, was repaired. 

It was comical, really. His life, that is. 

He debated it, then found he had no energy left to care about the moralities of it. Right now, after everything, after all the dirt and the grime and the blood, he just needed a damn bath. So Tony peeled his clothes off, leaving them on the floor as he climbed into the tub and let the warmth of the water consume him wholly. 

**Author's Note:**

> Your comments mean the world to me! Thank you for reading!


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